


don't saddle me with selfishness

by twistedingenue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kink, Light Dom/sub, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve thought that the tower was going to be empty that night. He was wrong, and stumbles on a scene --and an invitation -- too good to pass up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't saddle me with selfishness

He should have been the only one in the tower that night. Steve figured he'd step into the almost never used library for a moment. E-Readers and tablets and all assorted sundries are useful, he likes them just fine really, but sometimes there's nothing like the feel and weight of a physical book and flipping pages. Both Howard and the younger Tony had a thing for arguing and avidly wrote marginalia, both to the authors and, Tony, to an old and past Howard. Without that, holding such a light tablet sometimes felt like cheating.

He is, most assuredly, not alone in the tower. This fact is made more than abundantly obvious by the sight in front of him, just a few steps in from the doorway; he can't believe it took him that long to register what he sees.

Darcy's back is a long, smooth expanse of pale skin. She’s facing Clint, straddling his perfectly clothed body in the wide chair. Clint’s holding her wrists in one hand behind her back, pulling low and together, so that her shoulder blades sink and strain towards each other. His other hand is tangled up in her hair, possessive but not jealous. The only reaction from either of them to Steve's hasty expletive is that Clint stops the long, lazy kiss he was exchanging with Darcy—necking, Steve’s brain helpfully fills in for him; they are necking in the library—to look at Steve

He twists the hand in Darcy's hair to bring her chin up and looks at her. "Steve," he says, almost a question, but so low in his throat that it could be a growl. Steve thinks she answers with a barest hint of a nod and he realizes that he should already be out the door, but he's rooted to the spot, staring at Darcy's still and straining body, soft and curving. He thinks of the easiness that he's noticed between them and it makes a lot more sense now. "In or out?"

Clint's using his ‘do not question me’ voice, typically saved for last ditch efforts and sure leaps of faith.

"Excuse me?" Steve asks, because—well—that was not the response he was expecting and he's sort of focused on Darcy.

"You leave, and everything's the same, except you’ve seen some skin. Far less than you've seen of mine," Clint smiles without taking his eyes off of Steve. Steve doesn't return the look, intent on Darcy's wrists held in Clint's strong grip, his thumb stroking the delicate skin. It's distracting. "You come closer and this pretty girl here is on offer. After, we’ll still walk away, no harm, no foul— just indulging a friend in something she'd like."

When Steve still doesn't move – his brain is short-circuiting right now – Clint laughs, and all that intensity drops from him. "Cap, I'm serious. No need to freak out here, my girl has a thing for you." His hand drops from her hair and with a gesture she unfolds herself, standing in front of Clint while he rises, still facing each other. "And anyone who says they don't have a thing for her is a liar or not worth knowing." He lets go of her wrists and her arms wrap around Clint's waist when he kisses her forehead fondly.

"I didn't even know you were –" Steve trails off lamely, he can see Darcy's reaction from here, her head tilting from the force of her eye roll. He doesn't expect the slap to her ass from Clint, not playful but corrective; Darcy straightens up as the spot flushes red from the impact before beginning to fade.

He doesn't want to leave, but Darcy is so quiet, and you usually can't shut her up. "I need to know."

"Darcy, make a little noise and show Rogers what you have to offer." Clint says, not too loudly, not making a point of it, but it's a voice Steve's heard on the run in the field. Just softer, more intimate.

Darcy lifts onto the balls of her feet, answering Clint with a warm kiss. "Thank you," she says with real sincerity, turning to step towards Steve.

Steve's always known that Darcy is an attractive woman. She's just not the sort to flaunt it, not even a little. She and Foster are the sort that live in layers and practicality. Darcy out of the sweaters and boots is all generous curves on a small frame, almost an exaggeration of an hourglass. Her rumpled hair curls and spills over her full breasts, her nipples large and erect, and she's still wearing her glasses. He wants to reach out and touch her, see if her body is as soft as it seems, but she still hasn't said a word to him yet.

"Isn't my girl something?" Clint says, pleased and proud as if he had something to do with how she looks. "Do another turn there, girl, and lift your hair up."

She slowly pivots, her upper body lengthening when her arms cross to bring her hair up. His gaze drops to her thighs, the promise between them, the trimmed patch of hair, and to her ass, still slightly pink from the smack she took.

Darcy's gorgeous, but so are most of the women he spends time with. Darcy is not just beautiful, she's also pretty and soft and begging to be touched.

"I can see why you've been calling her pretty girl." Steve says, just as Darcy finishes her turn; she preens without artifice.

"Tell him what you want, babe." Clint says in a murmur, settling back down in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees.

Darcy rocks on her heels, and darts her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Steve, this is what I like and who I want to do it with. I want you to join me tonight. Please."

Steve swallows down hard and Darcy's looking up at him with her big blue eyes, just matching his gaze, "Yeah, but um, yeah, you should know I've never…"

"Just an extra set of parts Steve, we can figure it out. Clint will figure out the rules for me, and he'll do the rest of the talking for me." Darcy says, stepping closer and lifting the hem of his shirt to put skin against skin. Her fingers are warm and searching; she glances back at Clint—looking for permission he realizes—before putting both of her hands on him.

"Take his shirt off, sweetheart." Clint says from the chair. "Fold it, and sit back by me."

It's a demonstration more for Steve's sake than Clint's ego, and he bends over to help Darcy get his shirt off. Because he can, he captures her mouth with his, putting his hand on the back of her neck. The weight steadies her, his shirt in her hands, and she smiles like a sucker punch when he releases her. She reels a little while she quickly folds the shirt and places it on one of the nearby tables.

She settles herself comfortably on the floor between Clint's feet and Clint leans down and rearranges her hair.

"A few ground rules, Cap," he says good-naturedly. "I'm in charge of her. I'm not in charge of you, but I won't be adverse to you taking my suggestions. Along the same lines, she says red or yellow, we stop what we are doing. Actually, that's the biggest rule of all. You won't be fucking her," he laughs, his hands coming down to cup her chin and turns her face up to his. "I'm a little possessive of my girl that way. You want to suck Steve's cock, girlie?"

"Yes, please." She says simply, her face lit up and excited. She squirms a bit, her body shifting and her breasts defy fucking gravity with how they ripple and move.

"You have any problems with that?" Clint continues after taking another kiss from her.

This was not what he expected his evening to be like. He was going to settle in with a good book and then sleep the night away. Instead, he's found out that his teammate has a girlfriend and that they have some sort of dirty understanding where he is okay with sharing a little bit. This is somewhat of an awakening for Steve since—apparently—he's okay with sharing as well.

"None," He walks towards them both. "What does your girl like?"

Clint’s hands move steadily on Darcy, an idle touch that keeps her leaning into his hands with a laid back smile. "Screams to be touched, woman is starved for it," noticeably she lingers in the spaces where their bodies meet. “Keep your hands on her. Restraint, but not pain, and she enjoys a challenge," Clint lifts his lips in a knowing half smirk. "Pretty girl here isn't using words except to tap out or at my direct questions. But she's allowed to make all the noise she wants."

There's plenty of affection between them, Clint has a hard time not keeping at least one hand still and pressed against her neck or shoulder. Steve breathes easier for it, not sure he could do this without both of them being so easy about it. He takes in the sight of a woman so effortlessly naked, who sinks into her skin like home, and doesn't fight against it.

"Lean back sweetheart," Clint's voice is husky and warm, but commanding, direct and wholly unlike anything Steve's heard coming out of his mouth. "On your elbows, knees up and legs apart."

They both watch her slide further down and get into position. "Mostly my sweet girl just wants to be good," his hand snakes into her hair again and he pulls, her head following and her back arcing.

Steve takes the last step and kneels in between her legs, runs his hand up her thighs and just barely brushes over her slit, his thumb teasing at her clit.

"You'll be a good girl for Steve?" Clint asks.

"Yes," Darcy groans, elongating every sound, cherishing the word she's allowed to say, and Clint lets go. She whines at the loss of Clint's hands as he sits back, watching Steve explore her body, as if he were the lord of the manor. Well, hell, maybe he is. Steve thinks as he lingers over every smooth curve, the ripples of her belly from the contraction of her muscles and listens to her sigh when he cups her tits for the first time, gloriously heavy in his hands. He kneads and presses, just to watch her squirm and start to form words only to shut them off before they become audible.

Before Clint can correct her, Steve thinks, whatever form that takes –he’s watching them with even breaths, his attention all encompassing. He watches Steve just as much as he watches Darcy, and Steve knows better than most that the ease in his body by no means signals any less intent.

Darcy likes to be challenged, he remembers, and he leans down to kiss her, her lips sweet and practiced, her desire real but without a sustained heat. If this was anything but a gift—and he's not all that sure who is really the object here, him or Darcy—that would be disappointing. But he can use that to his advantage, opening her mouth with his tongue and allowing himself to just take and trust her judgment and knowledge of herself if it's not right, and use it as cover and deception. His hand doesn't even register to Darcy before he's sliding his fingers through her folds and twisting up into her cunt.

Darcy only barely stops herself this time, voice stuttering over an endless fricative. He loops his other arm between her elbows and pulls her up roughly. Her knees hit the ground uselessly, Steve taking all of her weight and continuing to work her over.

It's all too much for her and she finally breaks, "Oh god, fuck, Steve, fuck." She clamps her mouth shut. Clint moves faster than he expects, slapping her hard on the ass and she cries out into Steve's shoulder.

Clint sheds his shirt, and holds, no grips, Darcy's chin. "You want to talk, baby? Talk. Tell me what you like about Steve."

"Oh god, Clint, baby, everything about him is so big. His hands, his hands can fit all of my tits. Cover them completely, never had that before. And I can't wait to see his dick, want to know what it feels like in my mouth and against my throat. Is it as big as the rest of him?"

"See why it's a challenge for her to be quiet?" Clint flashes a quick smile, "Pants, cap, if you please. Actually, sweet girl, help him out with that." Darcy unbuttons, unzips and gropes while Steve works his pants off awkwardly, one handed, the other still buried in her, searching out all the sweet spots that make her whimper, "Good girl, babe."

She starts to shake in his arms, small and trembling at first, Clint's arms wrapping around her, against his stomach and it's a strange sensation, all that hard muscle that isn't his own. It's not bad, it's just new and there's no passion to it, it's practical. Clint is keeping his claim on Darcy, extending his by your leave as long as he can before it physically hurts him, whispering into her ear a few murmured phrases that Steve can't hear.

"You can't come until we both do," he growls at her, and it's so raw it hits Steve like a blow. Because he wanted to make this woman come again and again before she ever touched him.

"No," she whines and objects, and it's another swift slap. Steve peers over her shoulder, and her ass is red now, heat rising from the skin flushed deep red.

"Pretty girl, you are not to come until we both do, or there will more than just a few spankings." Not a threat, not a threat, Steve thinks, trying to convince himself that it’s something that he just doesn't quite get. But it is a threat, one that Darcy takes seriously, the muscles that were beginning to tighten inside of her relax, and she goes slack slowly, willing herself down a degree or two.

"That's right pretty girl, my girl, stay right there." Clint says smoothly, rubbing her shoulders. Steve closes his eyes, feeling Darcy's gaze on his cock, and the sheer want rolling off of her.

When he opens them again, Clint's just as naked as the rest of them, tan and solid throughout; He pulls Darcy away from Steve, into his lap,and what was once lazy kissing between them no longer has any of the gentleness of before. This was the heat and passion that's missing when Steve got his mouth on her. "Damn," he says, his voice scratched and dented from the sight, his dick is aching from the wait. "Never knew just how good sharing can be."

"Hard to do, Cap, but it has its rewards," Clint breaks off the kiss and twists Darcy's arms up against her back and pushes her down, knees on the floor, fast enough that she doesn't have time to make any coherent sound, until her lips rest within a ghost's breath from his cock. Clint looks at Steve, raising his eyebrows, a gesture of respect. Steve's not in charge here, but he's not subordinate and he nods his assent.

Darcy's mouth is hot and welcoming, wet and smooth as she slides down the length of Steve's cock without stutter or hesitance right up until he can feel the edge of her gag reflex. She stops, her tongue dancing around his shaft, filling her mouth. He looks at her, and Darcy is just somewhere else entirely, lost in the sensation already, then she starts moving, her cheeks hollowing with suction.

Steve's almost lost without anything to hold on to. His hands go to rest in her hair, on her neck, nothing more than weight and not providing direction as she finds a rhythm. The rhythm isn't hers though; Clint is pumping two fingers into her cunt, with a steady stream of encouragement coming from his mouth.

He doesn't quite have her full attention, and the noises she's making, constant and keening— begging noises—reflect and reverberate in her mouth, sending shivers down his spine and Darcy is such a fucking gift.

"You should hold her head, Steve," Clint suggests. There's no way he'd ever call this voice light, even though it is a suggestion and not an order. "Fuck my girl's mouth." Steve moves his hands, holds Darcy's head with surety, holds her still and savors the feel of her lips, her tongue, then she looks up at him with glazed eyes and she smiles.

He can't find a pace that suits him, can't keep anything steady but he thrusts into her mouth without any of the restraint that’s always been necessary before. He feels Darcy cry out when Clint starts fucking her, brutal and efficient. When Darcy looks up now, there's tears forming in her eyes, nothing but an overwhelmed joy on her face, and he wonders, as the pressure starts forming at the base of his spine, if what's she feeling is anything like his sudden sense of clarity in battle when he knows exactly what to do.

"Fuck," he yells. "Pretty girl, I'm going to…" and at least it’s a polite warning before he shoots into her mouth, watches her throat as she swallows before he relaxes back on his heels for a moment. Clint roughly brings Darcy to his lap, thrusting into her, his voice inaudible over her wordless pleas for mercy.

"Don't just watch," Clint growls at him and that is an order, one he's happy to obey. Clint holds Darcy close, and Steve knee walks right in front of her, takes her mouth and swallows down her cries, thumbing at her clit until she's shaking uncontrollably, whimpering. "That's right sweetheart, stay right there, just a little bit longer, such a good girl." Clint repeats until his head rolls back and he comes, breathing harshly. "Now baby, anytime you’re ready."

Darcy practically explodes with the force of her orgasm, tears rolling down her face and she's beautiful with it, until she's as limp as a rag doll in Clint's arms. When her breathing steadies to something other than a hitch, he re-adjusts her, cradling her head into the crook of his neck. It is a sight that is so intimate that Steve needs to look away, not impede on their moment together, something intensely vulnerable for both of them.

"Thank you," Darcy murmurs, to both of them. "That was, I mean, holy shit."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, and looks around. "Yeah, it was. Um…" and he probably shouldn't feel awkward around them, given the lack of clothing and the sex and how much sweat is shared between them. "What should I do now?"

Darcy laughs, "Give me a kiss." This time it's sweet and affectionate, pretense gone. "Was I good for you?"

"Very good, pretty girl." He smiles, and Darcy leans back into Clint's embrace.

"May we go back to my room," she asks, and Steve knows that's not an invitation for him; he stands to find his clothes and hands Clint his.

He looks around the room, but can't find anything that Darcy would wear, not a stitch more of fabric. He says as much to Clint.

Clint grins broadly, laughter in his voice. "There wasn't supposed to be anyone home tonight, Steve." Steve catches a glimpse of Darcy's blush, and he knows, _knows_ that he's been allowed to see more of what makes Clint tick there, revealing and vulnerable, rather than something about Darcy— that the person who watches also wants to be seen.

Of all the things tonight, it's that, that causes Steve to pink up and stammer.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a couple of anon prompts asking for Clint/Darcy/Steve. It uh, got out of hand. Like, a few thousand words out of hand.
> 
> Special thanks to someassemblingrequired, britt1975, and puffabilly for encouraging me while I wrote this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Twist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/921397) by [psalmoflife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psalmoflife/pseuds/psalmoflife)




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